"You want to share his punishment!" The offer given in warning.
"I'll take it all!" The counter-offer.
"It's five lashes that are owed, either by your hand...or the bo'suns" Davy Jones declared, ending all negotiations. A pause, then as Jones opened his mouth to give the order Bootstrap heard himself say "No! I'll do it".
Taking the whip, trying to block out the anticipatory gleam in Jones' eyes and the look of shocked betrayal on Wills face as the crew spread-eagled him against the mast, securing his hands.
The unreality of the situation as his shirt was torn off his back was shattered shortly after by the first stroke, the sound of the lash cutting across the rain and spray.
'Just breath' Will told himself, fighting to suck in air through teeth clenched against a scream, the spray of salt mist igniting the lines of fire newly crossing his back.
Bootstrap tried not to think about the job at hand except to pray to any Gods he might ever have believed in that Will would forgive him for this, for trying to spare him the bo'suns skill, who took entirely too much pleasure in causing pain. He could only offer small mercies, preventing the stripes from touching and trying to deliver the blows as lightly as he dared.
He could let the matter end there Davy Jones thought as the final stroke landed. A routine punishment and back to the work that needed doing. But cruelty and entertainment were bastard lovers on this ship of the damned…and the chance for some sport was too good to pass up.
"'Tis a noble thing, a father offering to take the punishment of his son" he mused out loud, halting Bootstraps move to assist in freeing the boy. "And no doubt ye' son's a fine young man who'd make the same offer for his father in a heartbeat." "So I believe" he continued, drawing out his final words to savour the look of dawning realization on Bootstraps face "that there are five more lashes still owing here".
The crew laughed in approval and hatred blazed in Bills eyes for a moment before he turned to try and bring himself to continue the nightmarish game, then at Jones' nod the bo'sun stepped forward shouldering Bill aside and pulling the whip from his grasp.
"No need Mr. Turner. Can't ask you to carry out your own sentence after all".
There was defiance on the boy's face as he looked over his shoulder at what was about to come. If there was fear he was hiding it well. Well, sport was more fun when there was spirit there to be broken. It would fail soon enough on the Dutchman.
Perhaps it was insane but he had to do something. Anything rather than simply stand and see Will suffer.
"Let him be, Jones" Bootstrap called, dodging around the bo'sun to stand squarely between him and Will. "Whatever you want from this, use me". Trying to keep his voice neutral, free of any desperation he was feeling.
"Move aside!" growled the bo'sun as the whip lashed out. Bill ducked his head to save his eyes and gritted his teeth at the streak of pain across his neck and shoulder but stood his ground. Hoping the captain's attention could be diverted by an unresisting target.
It could have been a tempting offer Jones thought, but it lacked leverage. Every man on board was a captive target, willing or unwilling. To back down now would be seen as just that, and an undesired show of mercy. The bo'sun reached the same conclusion as he stepped forward and brought the whip butt around viciously across Bootstraps face, staggering him, followed by a gut shot that knocked him to his knees. At Jones' summoning nod two crewmen hauled Bootstrap over, the smile gone from the captain's face.
"This goes as hard as you want it to Mr. Turner, and there'll be another five lashes for insolence to a direct order. Don't make a challenge where you can't win" Jones snarled, biting off every word. "Bo'sun!" Without looking as Bootstrap was dragged round to watch the show, still held, he strode along the deck halfway to Will for a better view.
The bo'suns cruelty was inventive, each stroke deliberately placed to carve bloodied cross hatches across earlier lines, the lash's tip curling to lick around armpit and sides, tearing flesh.
3…4…5…Breathing was a luxury rapidly slipping away. Driving spikes sending shards of pain radiating outwards like a cracked mirror. Gasps as the breath was knocked from him lurching to whimpers, staggering towards a scream, refusing that final step.
…6…7…
Davy Jones watched, enjoying the agonized tremors following every stroke, reflexively jerking against roped wrists, the fight to keep silent. And the pain of helplessness naked on Bootstraps face.
At 8 his lashed wrists were the main reason for still being upright, his footing unsteady as vision hazed to black and white flashes.
…9…10…
No screams, well there would be other times. The game had been fun, and thanks to Sparrow the Dutchman would be the final port of call for the boy, no doubt it would be played again. Blood ran freely across skin under fresh and salt water drizzle, staining shirt remnants clinging to the boy's slumped figure before being lost in the wash of the deck.
"Back to work the lot of ye!" Jones barked as he turned to saunter unhurriedly to his quarters, not giving another glance to the scene. He knew it would be taken care of.
Bootstrap tore himself free, running across the deck uncaring of any other goings on beyond getting to Will. Gods my fault, my stupid dammed fault…
The pain at his wrists was an almost welcome distraction, letting him lean against the rough wood of the mast as sweat mixed with blood sending shivers of reaction through him.
"Easy lad easy. I've got you". Hands loosing his bonds, his arm across a shoulder holding him up, staggering to keep his feet and trying not to flinch away as his father reached an arm across his chest trying to take his weight while avoiding his lacerated back.
Neither of them spoke, avoiding each others eyes as Bootstrap led the way carefully across the crowded deck towards the main hatch. Will supposed he should be hating the man, but it was too much to deal with right now. Passing out somewhere for a while seemed the only likely activity for the near future.
This wasn't a place for the living thought Bootstrap. He'd do what he could to treat Wills injuries but he had to get him free from the ship as soon as possible, away from being Jones' new favourite source of amusement. Perhaps he'd manage to ease some of his own guilt; he doubted forgiveness was coming any time soon. Certainly not from himself.